Just A Few Questions
by Singing-Syren
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski has some questions. The answers aren't what he expected. A Derek/Stiles fic told from Sheriff Stilinskis perspective.


**A/N: **I have no idea where this came from. I was caught up in my feels about the Stilinskis, and suddenly this happened.

All credit to my darling Huggeroftrees and her betaing skills for beating this into some form of coherency.

This is my first foray into writing for this fandom so please be gentle. Enjoy :)

The note is short and sweet as usual.

_Out with Scott and Allison. Breakfast's in the microwave. DO NOT ADD SALT! I'll know if you do. Eat the rest of the fruit salad in the fridge too._

_Need to refill my prescription. Remind me to put it in tomorrow?_

_I'll be in by curfew. Have a good shift. _

_Love you, Dad. _

Clearly his son was in a hurry, the handwriting rushed and scruffy. Maybe Scott was cajoling him out of the door while he wrote it. Very likely if they were meeting the Argent girl. Scott was so deep in puppy love he should have been sporting a tail.

Smiling, he took the saran-wrapped plate of turkey sausage, fake-bacon and what appeared to be some kind of vegetable hash from the microwave and set it on the table. He did help himself to a scraping of butter with his whole wheat toast because he was an adult, damnit, and he could have butter if he damn well pleased.

He didn't add salt though.

The fruit salad was a chore but ate it anyway before getting up and putting the plates in the dishwasher. He picked up the note, yawning deeply and rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way up the stairs.

_Well, _he thought as he stripped out of his uniform and collapsed into bed, _I'm going into town before the night shift anyway. Might as well swing past the pharmacy. _

"Good afternoon, Sheriff Stilinski." The pharmacist said primly as he handed over his health insurance card.

"Afternoon, Ms Sloane," he acknowledged. "Stiles has a refill to pick up, I think."

Ms Sloane nodded and tapped away at the computer. The sheriff watched her, cardigan and blouse all buttoned up, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she passed the printout back to the dispensary behind her. He wondered idly what her first name was. He could find out, of course, but it seemed wrong somehow. Some people were just born to be a 'Ms' or a 'Mr', and Ms Sloane was definitely one of them.

"It'll be up in just a minute." Ms Sloane said with a vague look of distaste on her face. "He does go through them, doesn't he?"

"Hmm," the sheriff murmured noncommittally, ignoring the snide remark as best he could.

"Shame on him for making you run his errands for him." Ms Sloane took off her glasses and let them dangle from the silver safety chain around her neck. "He's nearly eighteen. He could have picked them up himself when he was in here with that Hale character yesterday, but I suppose that's the problem with youth today – no sense of responsibility. I was saying to Mr-…"

The sheriff held up his hand, interrupting her. "Hale? As in Derek Hale? Stiles was in here with Derek Hale?"

The malevolent light of I-know-something-you-don't-know gleamed in Ms Sloane's eyes. "Yes, _Derek Hale_. That miscreant. He and your son are in here fairly regularly, buying bandages and tape and the like. I don't know why they should need such things so frequently," she sniffed, collecting the bottle of pills from the dispenser and bagging them up fastidiously before handing them across the counter. "I just know that if he were _my _child _I_ wouldn't let him associate with such a character. You should really talk to him."

The sheriff bit back the reply he wanted to give the woman, and handed over a few bills. "I'll do that. Have a good evening, Ms Sloane."

Looked like he had another stop to make on his way to work.

The sheriff pulled the cruiser off the road at the start of the gravel track that lead to the Hale house. It was a half a mile at least but he needed the exercise.

The path wound up through a shallow incline, the sounds of the town soon replaced by the breeze rustling through the leaves, the crunching of stones under his boots and his own slightly heavier breathing.

Things weren't bad between Stiles and him. It was a little awkward at times, sure, but what father-son relationship wasn't? Stiles studied, went out with his friends, did his chores and they talked when they had things to say. He might have taken most of the household rules as suggestions, but Stiles wasn't a bad kid.

So why all the secrecy about spending time out here with Hale?

He looked out at the woods around him and thought it must be nice to live out here. Picturesque and absent all the usual clutter of everyday life. Probably a lonely life though, if it were just one person on their own.

Like Hale.

Derek Hale… Rumours about him were rife in the town but that's all they were. Rumours. Forensics had cleared him of having anything to do with the fire that killed his family and the more recent murder of his sister. There was the night at the school when the kids were convinced Derek had been there, but when he'd had pulled Hale into the station to ask him about it he'd been able to show them receipts that put him two towns over.

So that was that. He was free and clear.

The sheriff had made a point of making the news public. In a small town like Beacon Hills, rumours could stay with you for a long time, ruin your reputation irreparably. And in all honesty the sheriff felt for him. No family. All alone in that wreck of a house where they all died.

A realisation hit him, stopping him in his tracks for a moment. He huffed a small laugh and shook his head as he started up again.

Derek Hale was exactly the sort of person Stiles would find interesting. Kid never could leave someone with a sob story or a mystery alone. It was one of his better qualities. He took care of people. He couldn't help himself.

So maybe that's what this was. Stiles was just interested in the older man, wanted to help him out.

And the fact that it was Derek Hale explained why Stiles had kept quiet about it. The sheriff was self-aware enough to know that when he asked questions it wasn't just a father concerned about his son. It was a sheriff interrogating. He felt guilty about it but it crept through regardless. You do things long enough and they become part of you, scored into your bones.

Things like a stealthy approach.

It wasn't until he heard the voices that he realised he'd walked off the path and into a thick copse of trees and was now crouched down amongst the bushes littering the area, hidden but still with a clear view of the front of the house across the clearing.

He'd feel vaguely concerned about how easily he'd found himself in that position later, but for now he carefully edged round the tree he was hunkered down next to.

The house looked…better. The right side of the building, most damaged by the fire, was stripped back to the barest bones, shored up with scaffolding. The structural work on the lower level was done. A lot of the outer shell had been replaced and the upper floor was nearly finished too, new beams gleaming brightly against the darker floors that Hale was obviously trying to save and restore. At the far edge of the property a sort of pyre was being constructed with the old wood, deliberately away from the new timber and facing boards that lay in neat piles closer to the building.

Where before the clearing the house stood in had smelt of damp, burnt wood, heavy with rot and decay, now the smell of sawdust permeated the air, mixing with the natural scent of the woods in spring. It smelled new and the sheriff understood a little more of why Stiles would want to spend time here.

Looking at the rebirth of this home made the sheriff wonder if his son ever wanted to tear down their neat, tidy, but unchanged house and rebuild it just for them. Start again fresh and new from the ground up. He sometimes thought about it and although he doubted either of them would ever really want to do it, they should be able to at least say these things to eachother.

He should ask. He _would_ ask.

A door banged and a laugh interrupted his thoughts.

On the newly reconstructed porch Stiles appeared, bounding down the steps with two coke bottles in his hands, one full the other half empty. He turned and looked into the house, backing away towards the treeline and stopping a few yards from where the sheriff was knelt in the underbrush.

"Stiles." Hale practically growled from the open doorway as he stepped out onto the porch and followed Stiles down the stairs, closing the distance between them.

"No way. They're mine. I need them. You've worked me like a dog all day and I need caffeine to live." Stiles tucked the bottles behind his back and stood his ground, chin raised defiantly.

Hale looked stern, looming over Stiles. "Stiles."

Stiles grinned up at Hale and shook his head. "Nope. Not happening. I'm gonna drink both of these cokes and you'll just have to deal with me."

Hale crossed his arms and just looked at Stiles. Even at this distance it was intimidating and the wrong side of aggressive for the sheriffs liking. He might feel for the guy but Stiles was his kid. He shifted, ready to step out of the trees and do some intimidating of his own.

The bark of Stiles laugh stilled him. His son was clearly not intimidated at all, bringing out the half empty bottle and taking a long pull.

"Ahhhh! Refreshing." Stiles said, smacking his lips.

Hale dropped his arms and sighed deeply. "I think I liked you better when you were scared of me."

"I was never scared of you." Stiles said, poking Hale in the chest with the butt of the bottle. Hale gave him a look and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Alright fine, I was. But that's before I got to know you. Now I know you're just a big puppy. No one's scared of puppies."

"Puppies bite sometimes. With their _teeth_." Hale groused but there was amusement in the tone.

Stiles made a face and waved the full bottle at Hale dismissively. "Pffft. Animals love me. You love me too, don't deny it."

"Oh for god's sake…" Hale rolled his eyes, turned and walked back to the porch, settling himself on the second step.

"That wasn't a denial, Derek. No denial means I win. And winning means I get two cokes. Go me." Stiles raised both drinks in the air and did a little bouncing turn on the spot. On the porch the sheriff saw Hale smile for a second before he schooled his features back into his disapproving scowl.

"Fine." Hale called from the step. "You go right ahead and drink both of those and then go bouncing around the house filled with sharp things and power tools. Then we'll make another trip to the ER and Scott's mom can lecture us on power tool safety like she did after Danny and the nail gun incident."

Stiles froze for a moment looking vaguely horrified, "Okay, yeah, no one wants that again," he said before he dropped his arms and walked over to the steps. He stopped just in front of Hale and held out the full bottle. "Peace offering, even though I'll probably die from exhaustion later?"

Hale looked at the bottle and then up at Stiles. "It's warm," he deadpanned.

"Oh my _god_." Stiles exclaimed and stomped up the steps muttering as he went inside. Hale laughed quietly to himself, a fond smile on his face.

A minute later Stiles reappeared, still grumbling, as he sat on the top step behind Hale.

"Here," he said, reaching over Hales shoulder, new bottle dripping condensation as he pressed it into Hales waiting hand.

Hale examined the bottle for a second. "Better."

Stiles slapped him on the shoulder, laughing and tugging until Hale leant back and settled, arms thrown over Stiles' thighs where they pressed close on either side of Hales chest. Stiles shuffled forward, wrapping an arm down across Hale, hand curling around his ribs, cinching tight and pulling Hale closer. Hale smiled and ran his free hand up and down the arm across his chest, like the level of intimacy was usual, like it was comfortable between them.

_Ah_, the sheriff thought, _that explains pretty much everything. _

Stiles had never said anything to him but something had told the sheriff to include boys as well as girls when they'd had 'The Talk'. Stiles had whined and groaned his way through the discussion but he hadn't protested the inclusion which was all the confirmation the sheriff needed. The fact that Stiles was just as likely to bring home a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend one day had never bothered him at all, so he wasn't shocked to see Stiles lean down and plant a gentle kiss on Hales cheek.

A small smile lifted the corners of Hales mouth as he leant into the pressure, fingers of his free hand sliding up to wrap around the back of Stiles' neck, turning to face Stiles properly and pulling him in-…

The sheriff looked away. He didn't need to see any more of that.

Pulling back from his hiding place, he headed back down the little rise towards the track.

He smiled as he walked.

There would have to be another 'Talk'. One that deserved the capital letter and would involve more specifics than the last one. Stiles would enjoy it about as much as the sheriff but that was tough. They'd both just have to grit their teeth and get through it.

The age gap was an issue, but he and Stiles' mother had met while she was still a high school senior and he was in his first year of the sheriff's degree program so he couldn't really protest that too loudly.

In the sheriffs experience Hale was blunt and aggressive at times, dour and moody at others, but judging by what he'd just seen that wasn't all there was to the guy. And knowing his son, Stiles was more than a match for him. Stiles had always been good at reading people - a good judge of character, just like his mother. He could hold his own.

Of course, none of that changed the fact that he was still going to have a quiet word with Hale in the very near future and ask him some pointed questions. Stiles _was_ his son after all. Some things had to be done.

The sheriff spent the rest of the walk back to the main road making a list of highly embarrassing, yet factually accurate things to print off to leave around the house for Stiles to stumble across.

The gravel of the track gave way to tarmac and man that climbed into the cruiser was a much happier man than the one that had climbed out.


End file.
